


if you loved me, why'd you leave me

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Wedding Fluff, marrying someone he doesn't love, smh, sort of, very little smut but only bc this is supposed to be sentimental and i didnt want to get carried away, wedding crashers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after One Direction, Louis finally gets his shit together on the day of Harry's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you loved me, why'd you leave me

**Author's Note:**

> i've been feeling quite shit lately and i legit have nothing else to do and writing makes me feel better, so please enjoy this and let me know if you don't. title is from all i want by kodaline bc i've been listening to that nonstop for a month

The scotch he's drinking tastes bland and watered down, too much ice and too little flavor. He hates drinks that don't live up to expectation. He figures this is the side effect of always getting top notch drinks handed to him left and right when he was in the band and then switching to low key bars with horrible service and sticky floors. He probably looks pathetic, tie undone around his throat and his collar unbuttoned, the cool air relieving on his warm chest. His fingers feel numb from the mixture of the ice in his cup and the condensation on the outside, and he's glaring at the ground beneath his shoes. He's a sight, he knows, and although he still gets recognized pretty easily these days, he's at home and on private property so he doesn't expect anyone to be able to see him.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about the day, or the time, or the fact that he's nearly drunk and it's not even one p.m. yet. His head is throbbing, and no amount of temple rubbing with his thumb can make it go away. The invitation is exactly how he imagined Harry would like it; a creamy color, maybe nude, with a fancy embroidery running all along the edges. It's got this frilly fabric hanging off of it that Louis' run his fingers over so many times he's starting to get papercuts. There was a little baggy that came with the letter, with mints and a mini orange teddy bear with the words  _you're invited!_ stitched into the front of them. Louis threw the entire bag away. (Only, hours later, sad and helpless, he'd taken the bear and set it up in his bathroom, hidden behind his cologne but in plain sight if you're looking because he's a weak man.)

"Fuck this," he mutters to himself, standing up on shaky legs, and he glances out at the yard, throwing the rest of his drink into the grass. It's a beautiful day, and of course Harry would pick this day. The middle of June, not too hot, just cool enough that the breeze passes by Louis and he shivers because it feels so good. The sun is out and surrounded by beautiful fluffy clouds, the birds are actually singing, he can hear children's laughter. It's disgusting. His phone goes off suddenly in his pocket and he flinches, wincing. He hadn't been expecting anyone to call him. He pulls it out and sees  _lotts_ scribbled across the caller I.D., and he may be a bitter lad, but he's not an asshole.

Sighing, he hits answer and brings the phone up to his ear, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. "Hey, Lottie," he says, and she breezes past that quick, voice grainy in his ear. It makes his chest ache with a pang, because he hasn't been home in ages and he really does miss his family.

"You know what today is, right?" She asks, and he can hear chatter in the background, music playing.

"Yes-"

"Good, then you'll be happy to know that it starts in two hours, and I've already sent Eleanor and Liam out to get you. You've got approximately ten minutes before they arrive, so I hope you've showered." She sounds chirpy, happy as if she's conquered every problem in the world. He sort of knew this would happen, somehow, some way, because he got an email from his mum last night and Niall's been off the hook texting him and calling him, asking if he's coming. He doesn't even remember if he's got Harry's number in his cell. (He does, he knows he does, because he usually goes through their last texts from a year ago over and over every night. It doesn't help.)

"Lottie, c'mon, I already told you I wasn't going." He says, glancing back out at the road, and he doesn't see anyone, save for a few children running around, teenagers playing basketball. "What's the point?"

She sighs, like she's the exasperated one. "You know he wants you there. Even if you don't want to go, it'll be rude to not show up. You didn't even reply to the invitation, the least you could do is show up for ten minutes. Have a drink, eat, chat. Mingle, Lou, maybe you'll find someone nice." She sounds softer now, like she's pitying him but also scolding him. He hates it.

"I don't see what good it'll do with me being there. I'll show up and make a complete ass of myself, everyone will laugh in me face, and then it'll be all over the media. That's the last thing I need right now." He says, and he knows it's a weak argument. If she's already sent Liam and Eleanor, two people he somehow corrupted and turned himself, turned into his partners in crime, there's no way he can get out of this.

"Maybe not, Lou. Maybe you'll go, maybe seeing him will do you some good. You've been a right tit lately-"

"Lotts!"

"I'm just saying! You've been a proper ass and you need to find some closure with this. You can't stay holed up in that house of yours forever. Everyone's worried about you. Mum, Dan, even Daisy's asking me where you are, why you don't ever come by." Louis squeezes his eyes shut, spreading his palm and fingers out across his eyes. That makes his headache worse. "Just do this. For me, at least? Your favorite sister?" Louis blurts out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"I don't pick favorites." She giggles, and Louis sighs, dropping his head back with a thick, tense inhale.

"Well, still. Please go?" Lottie asks, her voice small again, and she's always done that when she wants something from him, made herself seem as small as possible, and.. Louis can't believe this, honestly. He's being tricked into going to a wedding he doesn't even want to attend by his old little sister. Sabotage.

He's got a migraine, now, half from the scotch but mainly because of this entire situation, and it's not long after that does he sigh wearily. He thinks back to when he and Harry were together, when Eleanor actually wasn't his girlfriend and when everything seemed.. fine. Then he ruined it all, and now he has to live with that. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him and now he has to live with the fact that he's marrying the one man Louis' always hated. Or, envied. Maybe both.

"I can't," he spits quickly, slight panic rising in his chest. Lottie makes a noise across the line, a scoff of protest, but Louis barrels on before she can interrupt. "I fucked it all up, Lotts, he's not gonna want me back."

"You don't know that, Louis-"

"But I do!" He doesn't shout, just slightly raises his voice because, fuck, this is not happening. He is not going to Harry's wedding, because although he was invited, he's sure he's the last person who should show up, who's wanted. "I ruined it, everything that I had with him. I wouldn't come out, I wouldn't spend any time with him, I kept.. going out and screwing everyone except him. I was a douchebag, and the entire world knows it." He says, his voice gone pathetic, low and whiny.

Lottie actually does scoff across the phone this time, and when she speaks she sounds.. fierce, almost.

"Shut up, Louis. Right now. He forgave you for that, you know Harry, he's the last man on  _earth_ to hold a grudge." She says, and Louis knows that's true, but he doesn't feel like he deserves him. He doesn't deserve Harry. He knows Harry forgave him, he was there when it happened, and so was about, thirty other people, but still. He was the main guy. He sat there, ruined the relationship, and then Harry was the one apologizing to him in the end.

"Listen to me, Lotts, he's-"

"If you say he doesn't want you there one more time I swear I'm gonna drive over myself and slap you upside the head, you stubborn arse," she snaps, and Louis stills, lips pursing in surprise. Lottie may have gotten short with him before, but she's never sounded like this. This upset, at least. "He wants you there. I know he does. He may be marrying Nick and not you, Lou, but I know he wants you there. He personally texted me, just this morning, and asked me if you were coming."

Louis' chest bumps and stutters in his chest, so loud he's surprised Lottie hasn't heard it across the phone. He doesn't know why that makes his heart ache and swell, but it does.

"He- really?" Louis asks quietly, fingers tracing up and down the open collar of his shirt.

"Yes, really, Tommo. Now, I know you may think you've ruined everything, and you may feel like you don't deserve Harry, but you need to go to this wedding. Right now. Immediately. Are El and Liam there yet? They should've arrived ages ago." She says, and she sounds distant at that last part, like she's pulled her phone away to check the time.

Louis shouldn't do this. He shouldn't be considering this. He's got a huge load of laundry, the dishes have piled up to nearly seventeen feet high, he needs to vacuum his carpet in the bedroom, he's got a million things to do around the house. He needs to get his car cleaned out, he needs to call back that one producer from Milan that wanted to talk about him helping with the making of a movie soundtrack, he needs.. to do so much. And yet, he's standing on his front porch, half drunk and being scolded by his little sister, highly considering going to his ex-boyfriend's wedding. His ex-boyfriend, whom of which apologized to  _him_ when Louis was the one who called him a clingy little bitch and demanded he leave his penthouse. How ridiculous is that?

"It's pretty ridiculous," Lottie's voice is loud in his ear, suddenly, and he jumps a bit. "But, he forgave you for that. You may not have apologized to him then, but you still have time, love. Maybe you could, even.. try convincing him? To.. take you back, maybe?" Did he say something outloud? Did he repeat what he was thinking out in the open, for his little sister to hear? He's an idiot. Maybe he's criminally insane and, instead of going to a wedding, he should check himself into an insane asylum. Who knows?

He's stupid. He shouldn't be doing this.

"Do you think I should?"

"Yes! Go, Louis! You should go, crash that wedding and tell Harry you love him!" She shouts, and Louis can feel his heart beating faster, adrenaline pumping.

"Really? Should I? You really think I should?" He asks, even though he's turning and bolting up the steps, hurriedly running through his front door.

"Go! Oh my god, please, Louis! Go, and tell him he's amazing and kiss him right in front of that hipster wannabe!" Louis laughs, forced and mainly terrified, and yet he's shoving his shoes on and stomping up the stairs, splinters getting stuck in his fingers from the banister. He doesn't even acknowledge that, instead runs down the hall to his bedroom and darts through the door, fumbling to grab his wallet and trip into the bathroom. He looks like shit. There's no other way to describe it. His hair is soft and falling across his forehead, curled over in a tiny quiff. Louis may hate the guy, but he probably doesn't compare to how good Nick is undoubtedly going to look at his wedding. Like he'd settle for less. There's nothing he can do, though, he has to just comb briefly through his thick hair and then fumble to brush the scotch out of his mouth, making a last minute decision to spray on cologne. He's  _desperate_ here.

"Louis? Are you there?" He'd completely forgotten Lottie on the phone, and he quickly brings the phone up to his ear, breathless.

"Shit, yeah, sorry, I'm going. Right now, I'm going. I'm gonna drive, fuck. Okay, um, Niall's there, yeah? Tell him to make sure the church door's unlocked. Okay?" He asks, and Lottie makes a quiet, excited squeal across the phone and immediately agrees.

"Roger that, Tommo. Go get 'im, yeah?" She says, and Louis laughs again, slightly more scared than before. It's all nervous, anxious fear at this point, probably going to turn into vomit later.

"Yeah, I'm-" He sighs quietly, pausing to take a breather and run a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna try. Don't be disappointed if he doesn't feel the same, yeah?" He chuckles, and he can actually hear her roll her eyes. But, then again, he's been dealing with this for years, so he's sort of used to it. "Bye, Lotts," he calls, and he hangs up soon after, because he knows she'll stay on the phone the entire time if he doesn't hang up with her. His phone's about to die and he should probably charge it some, but when he ends the call and sees that it's ten past two, he nearly bolts out the door.

The drive to Oldham (would Nick have his wedding anywhere else? Really? You're right, no he wouldn't.) from Manchester is thirty minutes, maybe longer, so Louis doesn't have time to charge his phone. He's aware there are such things as car chargers, but what's he gonna need his phone for? Nothing's more important than the next hour, really. He's got to be there before three, because that's when it starts, and, he doesn't really fancy crashing the entire wedding. He's already had enough drama in that department.

He's not got time to change, so he heads back downstairs and quickly leaves, locking the front door behind himself. He's only dressed in tight black jeans that are too tight on his balls, a white button up and a nice blazer, that's stained with alcohol and sweat and expensive designer cologne. He is the epitome of pathetic. His car tank is thankfully full, so he speeds out of his driveway and off down the road, even though he knows he's going to get angry emails from parents warning him about the safeties of speeding. He doesn't mind right now.

 

...

 

He's an idiot. He should not have come, he shouldn't have done this, why did he agree to this? What on earth could possibly possess him to show up to his  _ex-boyfriends_ wedding, dressed like he's just got home from a one night stand, smelling of dirty socks and probably vomit? He's an idiot! He's fucking stupid, and he needs to go home. Immediately.

Only, he doesn't so much as reach for the shift stick, doesn't even pull the keys from the ignition. The parking lot was full and then some, so he's parked down the street, staring at the church from a perfect angle. It's an old, small, dingy church, with a rotting ceiling and probably maggots in the walls, and Louis can't believe Nick convinced Harry into this. But, then again, Harry probably took all of Nick's suggestions with acceptance and stride because he's a goddamn angel send and Louis cannot fathom why he would ever let him go.

It's the thought that maybe, just maybe, there's at least a tiny, itty bitty, molecule of a chance that Harry will take him back, will accept his love and everything he can offer now that he couldn't before, that makes him mutter, "fuck it," beneath his breath and shove the car door open, stomping out onto the wet ground. It was only a slight drizzle when he got into town, which, he's sort of thankful for. Of course it'd rain today, though. He feels stupid as he walks up the road, dress shoes smacking against the little puddles, both hems of his pants soaked by the time he makes it to the front steps of the church.

He's feeling a bit stupid now, hairsprayed fringe falling against his forehead, scruff rough across his cheeks and jaw, his outfit completely mismatching. (No, actually, it looked great last night, he knows because he nearly got three numbers from two girls and even a guy when he first arrived at Libertine, so, he's doing something right.) He looks like shite at the moment, about to attend the man he's in love withs wedding. He looks rugged and insane. He takes one long, deep inhale of wet concrete and freshly cut grass, and then angles his jaw and stomps forward towards the door.

Entering is sort of like deja vu, really, because he remembers attending church with his nan, and it's sort of the same, but not really. There's no one around, a small little space for gathering before the doors to the ceremony, and two conjoining hallways with the girls toilets on one side and the lads on the other. He clenches down on the mint gum he's been chewing ever since he found it in the cup holder, and it tastes good even though he feels the sudden threat of vomit rising in his throat.

"Tommo?" He whirls around, and Niall's just coming inside, smelling of even stronger cologne and some very potent weed. Louis could laugh. "Fuck, mate," Niall surges forward and throws his arms around his shoulders, clapping him roughly on the back. "So fuckin' good to see ya. Lottie texted me? She said you were here to take Hazza back?" Louis panics slightly, starting to pull back until Niall whispers, "I gotta admit, I'm relieved, fuck. Nobody honestly thought he'd go through with marrying Grimmy, ya know? We expected him to back out, like, a week ago, but he's kept strong." And, well, that just puts a lot of pressure on a single lad, doesn't it?

Louis does pull back this time, and he gives Niall a tight, close lipped smile. "Well, what else am I here for?" He asks, and his voice is weak, quieter than he expected it to be. He coughs to clear his throat, and Niall gives him a smug grin.

"Get your arse in t'ere, and don't leave unless you're leaving with him, alright lad?" Niall asks, his eyes swimming with delight and maybe fear. Louis knows how he feels, his stomach is queasy and he's probably going to throw up. Scotch for breakfast really isn't a great choice. Niall laughs, eyes bright suddenly. "Scotch isn't a good choice regardless, man." Niall says, and, oh, he's done it again, Louis realizes, spoken aloud without his brains permission first. He's got to work on not doing that.

"Okay, um, I'm gonna.." He jerks a thumb behind him, and Niall giggles. He then turns and, to his surprise, he feels Niall's hand on the small of his back as he's guided across the room and then he's pushing into the ceremony.

It's beautiful, that's the first thing Louis thinks. The room is large and sort of empty, with pews all along the left and right side of the room, and a long white carpet leading all the way down to the stage. There are daisies scattered around the room (Nick's favorites, definitely not Harry's) and there are more down the walk, shiny against the white. It's unsettling, how the chandelier shines and the room smells of slight musk and scattered perfumes and deodorants, how every single person in the room turns to look when they enter. Which, is odd, because the doors don't so much as squeak when he and Niall walk through. They do sort of whisper quietly together before they swing shut side by side, and the moment he knows every eye in the building is on him, he actually swallows back vomit.

He sees Des, and Anne, sitting up at the front, both of them looking surprised. He sees Gemma, who's- fuck, she's smirking at him, and she looks truly amazing. He also sees a few other people that definitely belong to Harry, Zayn and some pretty girl sitting beside him. It makes him briefly wonder how he and Liam are, if they're together. He sees, surprisingly, Ashton, Calum, Luke and Michael, all sat side by side and already holding a drink in their hands. That doesn't surprise Louis, honestly. They probably didn't even bring dates. He sees Grimmy's family in the opposite row, Eileen (is that his mum? Louis isn't quite sure) sitting beside his dad, and a few other people he knows from brief meetings, thanks to Harry. He doesn't see Liam, or Eleanor or anywhere, and he feels a slight pang of guilt, thinking of them at his house and him not there. He doesn't dwell long, can't dwell long, because- _  
_

"Louis Tomlinson?" Someone's voice rings out, and he snaps his attention forward, towards where Harry and Nick are gathered closely, a priest separating them. "What the bloody hell are you doin' 'ere?" His accent is thick, for some reason, heavier than usual, and Louis quickly remembers that Grimmy likes to drink when he's nervous. His eyes land on Harry, and, he actually feels his breath break off, hitching in his throat.

Harry looks.. astounding. Phenominal. Outstanding. Breathtakingly extraordinary- there isn't a word in the dictionary that can properly conjure up just how perfect Harry looks.

His hair has been cut some, so it curls more around his ears and less around his shoulders, but it's still brown and the curls are luscious, and his quiff is more defined, sitting properly tall upon his forehead. His skin is flawless, and his tattoos are exposed where he's wearing that-that  _damn_ sheer black shirt, Louis' always loved it just as much as he has hated it. It's unbuttoned down just two, probably more if he were allowed, and it goes along nicely with the blazer buttoned on his abdomen and the loose dress pants he adorns on his long legs. There's a scarf wrapped around his neck, and Louis hadn't realized how chilly it was until now. He hopes the lad isn't cold. His shoulders are broad and his shoes are shiny, and he actually looks.. simple. His face is a different story- in all of the eight, nearly nine years Louis has known Harry, he's been able to read him, but now.. now he can't. He looks passive, delighted, maybe concerned, a mix of happiness and confusion, so many emotions passing through those eyes Louis love so much.

"Louis?" Harry asks, and his eyes flicker around the room before they land on his own again, and, although his eyes are still brighter than ever, he straightens his shoulders and tries to look appalled. "What- What are you doing here?" He asks, his voice deep and familiar, familiar in so many ways.

Louis is fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, and he clears his throat, eyes roaming the crowd. He's getting glares from both sides, Harry's and Nick's, but he can see an encouraging look in Zayn's brown eyes, can see Anne biting her lip with wide but cautious eyes, and Gemma is now sipping from a flute of drink, a perfect eyebrow raised in question as she swallows. "Um, well.. Well, I- uh.." He catches Nick roll his eyes and turn to his friend -Douglas, is it?- with an exasperated look.

"Get on with it, Tomlinson, some people have more important things to do than listen to you stutter like an idiot." He sneers, and, he's got a cold look in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to throttle Louis and kick him out himself. The insult makes Louis stand taller and steel his jaw, eyes narrowing in determination.

He's terrified, though, is the problem. He's afraid Harry's going to look at him with pity and tell him he needs to leave because he doesn't love him back and he never did and he's embarrassing him. He's scared Harry is going to reject him and he's going to leave with his heart completely broken, and he's going to remain the pathetic, walking vegetable he's always been. It's petrifying.

There are slight murmurs now, ghosting whispers dancing across the room. Louis feels jolted back to reality when he feels Niall's hand on his shoulders, and he swallows thickly before he finally speaks up.

"I'm here because I was invited." Is all that comes out, a short, sharp burst of air leaving his lungs after. Nick gets this look on his face and he rolls his eyes yet again, shaking his head. He turns to the pastor and gives him an apologetic look.

"Well, everyone was invited," Nick says shortly, voice high as if he's speaking to a child. "Now, be a lad and sit down, yeah, so we can get this sta-"

"I'm also here because I'm in love with Harry and I want him back." It comes out like vomit, gushing from his throat and out for everyone to hear. The crowd gasps audibly (Louis' going to remember that as his real life movie moment) and a few people start whispering again, and Nick's finally shut his trap. He's staring at Louis now, with both eyebrows raised and his eyes suddenly wider than before. He hears someone choke on their drink, and he immediately looks to Gemma, who's just grinning full out now, giving him a sly thumbs up that sort of encourages him to continue.

He's not sure what to say now. That's what he came to say, and that's what he needed to say. What else does he need to say? That's pretty blunt, pretty blatant in his opinion. He's just told his ex boyfriend he's still in love with him. But, he's seen the movies, seen a video of someone crashing a wedding, and he needs some extremely long, sappy, horribly worded reason behind that, this, so he tries his best. (He thinks, later on, the worst part is the fact that everything he says spills out so  _naturally._ )

"I know that.. I know that I'm not perfect, Harry," he finally looks over at him, mouth going dry when he takes him in again, and to his surprise, Harry doesn't look as revolted as Nick. He just looks reasonably startled, dumbfounded. His green eyes are wide, and he's got his long fingers clasped in the fabric of his pants. "I've messed up a lot, in the past, and I know that I will in the future, too. I'm not going to give you some-some," he waves his hand about absently, chest still feeling heavy, "stupid apology for all of my stupid mistakes when there's the possibility it could happen again. I may get unreasonably drunk, I know that I'm going to be bitchy and probably accuse you for things I did myself, I'm.. I'm an ass, we all know it, so I'm not going to apologize for it." Niall's hand is still heavy and weighing down against his shoulder, and now when he looks, Zayn's giving him a soft smile he always used to use when he was proud of Louis. That excites him forward. "But, I can guarantee a difference. I'm better now, if that matters at all. I'm out, in case you didn't hear last year for an entire two months straight." He chuckles, and gets absolutely nothing in response. Sighing, he lifts a nervous, shaky hand to shove his hair off his forehead. "I've learned to control the drinking, which, I knew was a problem you had with me. And- also, the money spending. I've balanced my checkbook, believe it or not," he says, and now he's flicking his eyes up to meet Harry's, drinking in the gorgeous green of them, smirking a bit.

He hates to quote Elvis (no he doesn't) but his hands are shaking and his knees are weak, and he's probably about .5 seconds away from falling out and collapsing on the floor. How embarrassing would that be, crashing a wedding only to end up  _literally_ crashing in the middle? Horrific. Harry has this, almost passive, hardly an expression showing at all, on his face, nothing besides his wide eyes.

"I'm a better man. I'm striving to reach my goals, and I've been trying to just.. stop being a tit, you know?" He says, his voice quiet but echoing off the walls of the church. "I get that I'm not-" he pauses and gestures to Nick, who's got a hand across his jaw and is staring up at the ceiling, "all hipster-y and, book smart and.. properly educated, I'm not that into art and antiques and thrift shops, but. I love you," he says, looking down at the ground, absently kicking at a rose pedal, "I really do. I've always loved you. Even your terrible, terrible jokes, I love you. I sort of miss them, even," he admits, and when he looks up, Harry's also looking down, but Louis entertains himself with the idea that he can see a smile on Harry's lips. "And I miss how you were always so kind, even if it was, sort of a sarcastic kind of kind, you were never bluntly rude, like I am. And you always made me tea, no matter what. If you had just woken up or, gotten back from a run. If I was feeling poorly, you'd get me a tea if Payno didn't beat you to it." Louis drags a hand down his face, brow furrowed wearily. His shoulders feel weighed down by this, but he's slowly feeling better after every few words. "You stopped bar fights and, internet fights, and, you saved me from a bloody bus one time, Harry. D'you remember that?" He looks up at Harry again, expectantly this time, but when they meet eyes, Harry quickly averts his and his shoulders slump a bit.

Maybe he should stop. Looking around the room, he mostly sees secondhand embarrassment, tired old ladies and a few kids snickering to each other as they write in the bibles placed on the back of each pew. Gemma is staring ahead now, and Zayn's still watching him, only now he's looking slightly sad as he twists his pink lip between his teeth. Only Anne is looking at him, and she's giving him that sweet, head slightly tilted to the side smile, her eyes warm and familiar and loving. Louis barrels on.

"You.." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You make me a better man, Harry Styles. You always have. I've had a million and one good things in my life, and I've ruined them all and not once regretted them. But I had you, and I ruined that, and I-" he cuts off, jaw clamping shut as emotion swells behind his eyes. He chuckles low, humorless and bitter. "I've never regretted anything more in my life. I may not be able to love you the way he can, but I swear to god I'll do everything in my power to be better for you. Just for you." His voice is now a sincere promise, and he wishes he didn't feel so pitiful admitting this to everyone, probably about 80 people he doesn't even know. He then picks his words carefully, wringing his wrists together. "I'm still your Louis, and I always will be. If you want.." He lets the words trail off, and then it goes silent.

Not the silent where you can't hear  _anything,_ rather the silent where it's deafening and awkward, an uncomfortable still spread across the room and causing everyone to be tense. The air is so thick Louis could probably choke on it. He looks around, and Niall's up behind him now, both hands patting his shoulders softly, as if praising him. Gemma's turned back to him, and she's not smiling but gives a very weak quirk of lips, winking at him. Zayn's got a thumb discreetly swiping beneath his eye, and although it's enough to make him smile, he doesn't. Michael and Luke aren't facing him, Ashton's giving him that look of sympathy, sad eyes and lips pursed inwards so his mouth goes white, hair messy. He sees Liam and Eleanor, suddenly, sitting just at the end of the pew, and Liam's got huge, massive wide eyes, jaw open and it's the most reaction he's gotten out of everyone in the entire damn church. Eleanor looks soft and knowing, and she blows him a silent kiss, as if reassuring him it'll all be okay.

When he finally looks, Harry's staring at him, and he looks.. fuck, Louis can't describe it again. He looks at a loss for words, slightly cold because Louis actually sees a tremor run through him, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Louis wasn't feeling the pressure before, but he sure as hell is now. He looks around again, and swallows, because he doesn't know what to do now.

"Harry," it's Gemma, suddenly, glaring at her brother, "say something." She hisses, voice heavy, and Harry whips his head around to face her, eyes wide again. He opens his mouth slightly to speak, but nothing comes out, staring at her with a loss for words.

He looks scared, and smaller than Louis' ever seen him, and he hates how he's always putting Harry in these situations, making him deal with shit he shouldn't be dealing with. Maybe he isn't right for Harry after all.

"I-" Harry finally speaks up, and then Nick stands in front of him, eyes narrowed and harsh.

"I think you should leave." Nick snaps, voice venomous and filled with hatred, disgust radiating from his pale skin. And, Louis, the first thing he does, is not talk back, no. He looks at Harry. Then his heart breaks, shrivels up and goes dry, cracks, shatters and fills his stomach with something other than vomit, cheap alcohol and self loathing. Harry is looking down, making no move to speak to him or stop Nick, and Louis feels those unshed tears in his eyes finally release and fall down his face, slowing when they reach his scruffy cheeks. He stands there for a long, silent moment, and then eventually nods and clears his throat.

"Right," he says quietly, his voice rough and low and hoarse, "yeah. Sorry about this everyone," he calls, and he's getting looks of pity that makes him want to snap like a fucking twig. "Get back to your lovely evening, pretend like I didn't even come." He insists, and then turns and shoulders around Niall, quickly but quietly striding out of the service hall. He then very nearly breaks out into a run, hurrying out of the church and down the stairs, ignoring Niall calling out to him. Once he makes it off church property he does start running, jogging quickly down to where he's parked his car. He probably shouldn't drive, with cold cheeks and salty tears blurring his vision, but he slams the door shut and quickly revs the engine, hauling out of the lot with a very memorable scream of his tires.

 

...

 

He purposely clears his thoughts. He doesn't like thinking, because the only thing he can think of is how much of a fucking idiot he is. He's so, so stupid, he's a right jackass and he should've never listened to his 19 year old sister who didn't know a damn thing she was talking about. He's just lost the love of his life- _again_ , in front of the one man he hates more than himself, and now he's got to live with it, forever.

"I'm uhh.. sorry about that?" He jerks his head up when he hears the store clerk speak up, her soft accent unsure and slightly alarmed. He gives her a confused look, his brow furrowing deeply, until he realizes that, yet again, he's gone and spoke aloud without his brain's permission. She's holding his credit card back to him without actually reaching towards him, sliding it forward on the counter, and Louis blinks.

He quickly reaches forward and snatches up his card, shoving it into his wallet. He then grabs the vodka (it gives him killer headaches and disgusting heartburn, usually vomit, but it gets him so fucked up so fast that he doesn't even care) and clears his throat, giving her a blank look. "Sorry. Brain to mouth filter, it's uh, off.. somewhere." He gives her a tight, awkward smile and then turns and hurriedly storms out of the liquor store. He jumps into his car and tosses the paper bag on top of his Chinese takeout, turns the car on, and then rips out of the lot. He just wants to go home, get extremely fucked up, sleep for an entire 48 hours, and deal with life then. Until that time, he doesn't so much as want to  _think_ about today's events.

The ride home is full of nothing but Kodaline (he's fucking weak, okay) and his own bleary, horrible voice, shouting along with the windows down to the lyric-

" _When you said your last goodbye_  
_I died a little bit inside_  
_I lay in tears in bed all night_  
_Alone without you by my side_ "

It's pathetic, and he's well aware of that, but he doesn't care. He's not thinking about it, he's just going to go home and not cry, he's going to take shots. He's curious for a moment if he could take shots off his own belly, but then remembers he's hardly flexible. Harry is, he thinks. So wonderfully flexible and good at yoga. He literally shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts, quickly speeding through the gate of his home, probably too soon with how the metal gates make a slight screeching sound against his porsche as he drives through too fast for it to open all the way. He doesn't care, just glances back to make sure it closes behind him and then discards the entire problem. He reaches across and grabs his dinner, and then grabs the last piece of mint gum, popping it into his mouth to start chewing immediately, an excuse to clench his jaw over and over.

He tucks the vodka beneath his arm and whistles absently as he locks his car and switches the keys around to try and find the lock to the front door, mumbling and cursing under his breath when he has to stop and rest the box of Chinese on his knee on the front stairs. He eventually finds the brass key, and goes about walking up the steps and shoving it in the lock, stepping into the coolness of his house. He's glad he didn't turn on the thermostat before he left, because his shirt is sticking to his chest from the humid air outside and it's definitely a cooling relief on his tan skin.

His head is pounding and the only thing the vodka will do is make it worse, but he doesn't care. He truly, truly, truly doesn't care. There are many ways he could resolve this feeling, he could take the hard way out, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to talk to someone about how much he's painfully in love with Harry, how much he desperately wants Harry back in his life, or- back in his life at all, he's not picky, just desperate at this point. He just wants to drink and get extremely fucked up. He wants to forget this entire thing, and bringing it up will not do that.

The house is always so quiet, and he wishes it weren't. He wishes he had someone here to turn the TV on while he's gone, or so when he walks in the smell of dinner or pinesol is thick in the air. It's.. this is probably weird, but Louis' always had this dream that he'd come home one day, a happily married man, to the smell of lemon cleaner and the sound of a vacuum, the windows all open and a wonderful breeze shouting in and out, some 80's music playing softly behind the silent motor of their vacuum. It's.. it's what he's always wanted. Always, and now, his hopes are sort of crushed that he won't ever get that.

"Louis?" He's startled as he rounds the corner of the hallway that leads from the front door, arms immediately flying up to hold in front of himself in defense. His eyes are wide when they search behind his tensed forearms, slightly angling his chin up.

Now, maybe Niall, or Liam, or even Lottie waiting for him, that's reasonable. He understands maybe them showing up, because he's probably got to be pretty unstable after going to crash a wedding and then getting rejected in the middle of it, right? He's got to be like, having some panic attacks or he's probably going to do something stupid, so it's acceptable to see one them sitting on his couch, maybe. But this? He wasn't expecting this.

" _Harry_?" He asks, his voice pitching high and squeaky, eyes wide as he drops his arms, both holding the vodka and the Chinese. It is Harry, scrambling up from the couch to stand beside the coffee table, wringing his tie between his fingers, tugging at it, to the side and away from his neck, obviously nervous. His throat bobs as he swallows, and Louis watches the movement, for some reason unable to look him in the eyes. "What- how- why are you here?" He asks, stuttering, and Nick's right. He's an idiot. His throat feels tight, and Harry looks torn, like he's unsure of what to say, or do.

It's quiet, then, just the sound of heavy breathing, and Louis doesn't say anything as Harry looks down at the ground, still fiddling nervously with his tie. Louis briefly, irrelevantly makes a note that Harry hates ties. Always has, and he wonders why he'd wear one at his wedding if he undoubtedly prefers bow ties.

"Nick likes it," Harry mumbles, and gives a pointed tug on his tie, and Louis blanks. He's seriously got to fucking stop speaking aloud without his brains permission. It's uncool and sort of robbery of his rights. Harry suddenly lets out a pained chuckle, non-smiling and brow furrowing deeply when it ends. "He liked a lot of things, actually. And, if you know Nick, I didn't get much of a say." He whispers, and he sounds.. broken. Sad, like it's not the wedding he wanted. Louis knows if it were him, if he were the one who'd proposed to Harry, he would take every single thing Harry wanted in account every time before his own. He'd make sure the place was right, the colors were right, the smell, food, fucking  _everything_ was perfect, because that's nothing short of what Harry deserves.

He looks down at the stuff in his hands, the vodka screaming and begging to be drank, the Chinese desperate to disappear in his belly. He slowly chews down on his gum, and reaches over, setting his things down onto the dresser beside the hall, dropping his keys and wallet beside the paper bag containing his food. He then very slowly turns back to Harry, who's looking at him, watching him with these wide, addictive eyes, his lips parted around his breath. He looks fucking flawless, just as breathtaking as when Louis first saw him, and he wishes this weren't so hard. He wishes he didn't love Harry as much as he does.

His heart is aching and he doesn't even know why Harry's here, he should leave. Louis should kick him out and tell him to go live his life, be happy with that musical festival loving fuck that got to him before he could, but he doesn't. He just stares down at his suddenly extremely interesting wrist tattoos, purposely avoiding looking at Harry, or speaking. Louis won't kick Harry out. Actually, he could demand Louis' wallet over and tell him to leave and go somewhere else and Louis would. He's ridiculously attached. It might not even be healthy.

"Oh, fuck this," he hears Harry say, and when he looks up Harry's storming forward, stomping towards him in those silly brown dress shoes. He doesn't so much as get a chance to blink before Harry's grabbing him by the cheeks and smashing their mouths together, lips slotting a bit harshly. He makes a gasping noise, inhaling sharply through his nose when Harry keeps stepping forward until his shoulders hit the wall beside the dresser in his living room, a slight sharp pain shooting throughout his shoulders that he immediately ignores. Instead, he brings his hands up to grip Harry's hips, and he moans at the feel of them, still baby fat soft beneath his fingertips, smooth and perfect for holding. Harry's pushing his lips open though, and slipping a hot hot hot tongue into his mouth, smooth and wet and so delicate, tasting of champagne and something even sweeter, addicting. It's a rough kiss, their noses bumping as Harry's teeth almost unpleasantly cuts his bottom lip, immediately soothing it with the rush of his tongue. He can't do much more than dazedly kiss back, sliding one arm around Harry's narrow waist, to meet his other hand, fingers curling together to hold as leverage on the jut of Harry's strong hip.

It's everything and more, really, Harry's mouth familiar and wonderful, a jolt of exciting arousal shifting down his spine when Harry starts sucking on his tongue. He lets out a rumbling groan, thick and vibrating in his chest. His mouth falls slack as Harry's fingers slide around to slip up behind his neck and cup his nape, whilst the other casually touches his throat, long fingers easily wrapping around his neck. He kisses back as well as he can manage, nipping at Harry's lip and sucking around his bottom lip, licking behind his teeth and gently scratching his nails across his firm hips.

"What-" Louis has to tear his head back, his skull hitting the wall behind him painfully, but he doesn't care. He stares, breathing very heavily and staring wide eyed at Harry, who's watching him too, only he's staring at Louis' mouth. "What was that?" He asks breathlessly, painfully. He doesn't ever want to stop kissing Harry.

"Please," Harry begs, emerald eyes wide and desperate, "please don't question it. Just- fuck, just let me have you again, please? Please, it's all I want." He whispers, already leaning forward as he whispers hurriedly, words rushing and hot against Louis' mouth. Louis stares at him with uncertainty, until he whispers those last 3 words and all of Louis' wall crumbles and he's the one shoving forward this time, lifting a hand to angle Harry's jaw down, swallowing the happy whimper Harry gives off as their mouths touch once more. He licks into Harry's soft mouth, and tickles fingers against the cut of his jaw, bumping their tongues together as he uses his free arm to pull Harry flush against him, the few inches Harry has on him nothing in comparison with how small he's currently trying to make himself.

He can't believe this. He's- not even five minutes before he was preparing himself for a night of pity drinking and watching Love Actually, just because he's pathetic, and now he's currently got his tongue enveloped in the mouth of his  _love_ , it doesn't get better. Harry's right, he shouldn't question it.

Louis pulls back to kiss Harry's chin and down across his cheek, briefly scraping his teeth down the spot just behind his ear that always makes his knees weak, a soft noise falling from his mouth as he drops his hands to clutch tightly at Louis' shoulders, gasping against his ear. He pushes his hand up behind Harry's shirt to feel out the warmth of his back, holding him close as he trails his wet lips over Harry's throat. He latches his lips onto the spot just at the crook of his neck, sucking so hard he figures it's probably painful for Harry. He doesn't get any protests though, just another whining noise and Harry's arm fully wrapping around his neck, fingers clutching against his shoulder. He pulls back when he knows he's left a successful mark, one no simple bronzer (concealer? He doesn't know) can cover. He stares at it triumphantly, until Harry's noises increase in volume and then he's whispering against Louis' cheek, pulling back to kiss him briefly on the lips.

"Fuck me," he gasps, lifting his fingers to pull gently at Louis' hair, broad palm resting against his skull. "Please, please please please," he's babbling, and he gets like this, Louis remembers, incoherent and babbling when he's too turned on to function properly.

"Breathe," Louis demands, scratching his nails across the small of Harry's back and slipping his own fingers around to push into Harry's soft and surprisingly product free hair, tugging sharply until Harry sucks in a breath like being revived and then he exhales slowly, blinking murky green eyes down at Louis. He smiles at the lad, leaning forward to kiss him soft and loving, sucking at his bottom lip until it's swollen and perfectly pink when he pulls back. "S'that really what you want?" He asks quietly, and Harry mumbles quietly, nodding. "Speak up, please," he murmurs, and Harry does, nodding.

"Yes, a lot, I've been thinking about it for so long," he admits, his already flushed cheeks turning slightly rosier. His voice is deep and gravelly, a rough drag to his slow drawl that makes Louis' pants tighten even further, his cock slowly filling in his pants.

"There's a good lad," he grins, and Harry's eyes slightly brighten, until he's smiling too, and he giggles, deep but so lovely. Louis exhales a little breathy laugh, shaking his head. "C'mon, bedroom," he murmurs, and Harry's eager to comply, dropping his big hand to curl their fingers together, and Louis' heart swells with love, something he's grown accustom to with Harry. "Not me yet, love, you go first. Undress, I'll be there in a minute," Harry looks slightly ready to protest, pouting, but then leans over and softly kisses Louis' cheek and then bounds across the living room and darts up the stairs.

The moment Harry's out of sight, he gasps and laughs in disbelief, lifting a hand to rip his tie off his throat and throw it onto the floor, quickly discarding his blazer. He kicks his shoes off and then turns to quickly walk into the kitchen, getting half of his shirt unbuttoned before he tugs the fridge open and pulls out some water and a lemonade, and then slams it shut behind him. He lets his shirt fall off his shoulders as he quickly exits the kitchen and goes up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Harry's in the bedroom, laid stark naked on the bed, and Louis chokes as he enters, nearly tripping across the threshold. He's got a hand around himself, his long long legs spread out and his pale skin seemingly never ending. He's so hard he's pink, his fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft.

"Oh, Jesus," he mutters, and Harry's eyes snap open, his head falling to the side when he sees Louis watching. His hips stutter and he groans, toes curling briefly. Louis hurries forward and sets the drinks on the bedside table, before crawling onto the bed and knee walking up in between Harry's legs, his fingers tentative when he touches them to Harry's smooth thighs. He looks fucking debauched already, hair falling all around the pillows and lips looking pinker than ever, chest heaving and nipples tight, his fingers fumbling where they still on his cock, no longer stroking rather than just holding.

"I love when you look at me," Harry whispers, so quiet, as if he's admitting a secret. Louis chuckles, shaking his head a bit.

"I love to look at you," he murmurs, and then leans over to finally get a taste of Harry's skin, lips trailing over the laurels on his hips, moving further down to suck a little kiss into the meat of his hips. Harry whines above him, a little gasping noise, and removes his hand from his cock to bury it in Louis' hair, his long fingers wonderful where they scratch at his scalp. He hums and moves further down, lips kissing and just lightly licking until he makes it to the sensitive inside of Harry's thigh. He opens his mouth and drags his teeth gently along the skin until Harry jerks and pleads above him. He pulls back, drags his hands up and down Harry's legs, entranced at all the wonderful soft, smooth skin he's got to work with. He looks up at Harry after a few seconds, and he looks truly wonderful, soft mouth parted around heavy breaths.

He bites his lip and lifts up to lean over Harry's long body, positioning his hands beside his head. They kiss again, just soft brushes of lips, and he sucks gently on Harry's tongue, and it's not as frantic, instead just Harry occasionally tugging at his hair. When they pull apart again, he touches his forehead to Harry's and they just breathe the same air for a few long, silent seconds, until Harry speaks up again and his voice is low, rough and it tugs low in Louis' stomach.

"Can I suck you off, please?" He asks, quiet and nervous, like he's afraid he'll be rejected. Louis groans immediately. "I just- I want to, so bad."

Louis has so many questions. He needs to know why Harry's here, what happened to the wedding, if he's participating in Harry cheating on Nick- he just doesn't _know_ and it makes his chest tight with anxiousness, with this underlying tension that won't go away until he gets answers. But, he will admit this his mind goes completely blank when Harry sits upright and curls a hand over his shoulder, pushing at him until he scoots back on his knees some. Then, because, as previously mentioned, Harry's as flexible as a damn party balloon, he swoops down and fits his mouth across the head of his cock, makes his jaw go slack instantly.

"Shit," he grits out, jaw clenched as he fumbles to get his hands up and shoved through Harry's soft hair. He doesn't understand, because if it were his wedding his hair would probably have an entire tub of gel and then some, and yet there's no product in Harry's whatsoever, and tha- Harry's tongue flicks just across the slit, wrist twisting as he tugs the foreskin down and his long fingers nearly overwrap each other where he's got them firm around his shaft. He grunts, a low, breathless noise, and looks down at Harry, toes curling when he finds those green eyes already on him. "You little monster," he groans, and Harry doesn't smile but Louis can actually see the glint of mirth in Harry's eyes.

He's always been extraordinary at this, sucking Louis, because he used to actually beg and plead him back at the X-Factor house. Maybe if Louis hadn't been so horribly in love with the idiot he would've told him no. Over time, as they fell harder and became more attached, the more Harry learned what Louis likes- a lot of suction, a lot of jerking him off and even a little teeth if he's willing to be a little rough with Louis. Right now though, he can tell his ex-lover is just desperate to get a taste, because he's sloppy in the way he licks down his shaft and bobs across him, fingers finding behind his thigh as he swallows him in his throat.

"Jesus, Harry, careful," he jolts, and Harry just lets out this low, rumbling groan, growl almost, when Louis' fingers tug at his hair in warning. "Don't choke yourself," he whispers, and Harry flicks his eyes up at him, eyelashes now wet, clumping together, and Louis shudders with goosebumps at the sight. He didn't ever think he was gonna get this again, soft, swollen pink mouthed Harry, rosy red cheeks and an immaculate jaw slack around his girth. If it isn't the best thing in the world, the best feeling. He knows Harry isn't choking, because he's done a lot more than this, taken bigger dicks, but it's just instinct to make sure he's okay, really.

He lets Harry go at it, sees this almost serene look on his face as he sucks and licks and whines around his cock, one of his big hands curled around his thigh while the other rests in a tight fist against the sheets. It isn't until he feels his orgasm bubble up close in his groin, so fucking quick he actually jerks and fucks up into Harry's throat. The other lad gags in surprise, a loud _gluck_ noise sounding from him with the intensity of it.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry," he gasps, quickly lifting his other hand to touch Harry's jaw and lightly guide him off with fingers tight in his curls. Harry actually looks.. happy, though, the tightness around his eyes when Louis had seen him earlier gone and there's a sated smile on his swollen lips now.

"S'alright," he rasps, his throat probably shot to hell, and he smiles at Louis, reaching forward with fumbling fingers to intertwine their hands. "Nick never let me do it the way I wanted," he whispers, as Louis takes a hand to his hip and guides him back, letting him fall against the sheets and arch his spine a little in invitation. The way he parts his thighs and drops his feet wider in a silent plead makes Louis' breath catch in his throat, and god, Louis wants to so fucking bad his entire body throbs with it, but he's already close and he'd come the moment he was inside Harry. That'd ruin it for the other lad, and he doesn't want to do that.

"Wanna tell me 'bout that, love?" He asks, and Harry shivers a bit, his smile widening almost like he can't help it. He nods and bites his lip, as Louis reaches across the bed and grabs the lube, sitting back on his haunches while simultaneously searching out Harry's hole with his eyes. His mouth goes dry when he finds it, pink and so, so beautiful, clenching around nothing like it's just as greedy as Harry. He tunes in a little late to hear what Harry's saying, but it doesn't matter, not with the way Harry cuts off and keens, jerking a bit on the pillows the second his wet slick index finger meets his warm hole. "C'mon then, talk to me," he murmurs, and Harry nods.

He's got his hands fisted in the sheets, and he whines a bit as Louis pushes forward, but then as if suddenly remembers he was asked to do something, he speaks up in a drawl quicker than usual, his voice sounding higher. "He j-just had this way, this certain routine when I blew him, and I hated it," he gives a little breathy gasp as Louis eases his finger in to the last knuckle, and he's currently breathing heavy himself, unable to catch his breath because, fuck, Harry's tight. A lot tighter than he ever was when they were together. "He never liked too much tongue, and if I so much as grazed him with my tee-teeth, he'd go soft and I'd ruin the night." Louis feels a pang of sympathy, because he can't imagine the shit Harry had to endure being with that douchebag.

Despite being tight around his finger, Louis' never felt him so relaxed, and it's like slipping in after a fuck because Harry feels so smooth when he adds another finger. He does groan thickly and arch his hips up, rocking back down and briefly clenching around Louis' fingers, but he's fine. It still amazes Louis how this never seemed to hurt Harry, it was just always this intense, intimate action that drove the lad mad.

"He always," Harry sounds airy, inhaling the sharp bursts of breath after every few words, "always made me suck him, and then u-usually he would just tell me to wank myself, said he enjoyed seeing me get myself off." Louis tsks a bit, shaking his head.

"What a waste," he murmurs, and Harry laughs a bit above him, makes Louis' eyes crinkle at the noise, a light feeling flitting through his bones as he looks up at the lad. He wheezes out this aching breath when Louis pulls his fingers out to the second knuckle and twists his wrist, crooking his fingers until they press firmly to the pad of Harry's prostate. The next noise sounds like a sob, and he's rocking down steadily on Louis' fingers now, his fingers trembling when he lifts them to bump across his own hip and go knuckle white tight around his cock.

He goes relaxed, tension leaving his shoulders and these tiny, heavy breaths leave his mouth, his free hand fisting in the sheets beneath him. His legs are already fallen open, long and smooth and so, so gorgeous, his balls drawn up tight. He's moving his fingers fast, sharp and quick and just a fast motion across the head, and that's how Louis knows he's close. He doesn't like too much attention to his cockhead unless he's close, because he's always been way too sensitive there.

"He hasn't fucked me in two months," Harry gasps suddenly, and then he's coming all over his fingers, shooting up thick spurts of clear come, his hole clenching so tight around Louis' fingers they actually threaten to slip out. He seems to come forever, gushing thick, heavy lines of come all across his long fingers and those shiny rings, slipping down across his wrist and getting the laurels painted over his hips messy with little drips. It's the hottest thing Louis has seen in two years and he's pretty sure he's going to come the moment he gets a hand on himself. Harry's making these small, pathetic little whining noises, his deep breaths occasionally hitching and getting stuck in his throat.

Louis swallows, his mouth feeling dry, and he has to twist his fingers to slowly pull them out of Harry, who gives a pained, happy groan as his fingers slip out. They're dripping with lube, so he reaches down and grabs a hold of himself, exhaling a sharp " _fuck_ " as he fists himself tight and quick. He presses his forehead against Harry's hip, panting damply against his skin, and it isn't until Harry pushes weak fingers into his hair and tugs roughly does Louis grunt and come all over the bedsheets beneath them.

It's quiet besides their heavy breathing and the occasional slip of slick skin against one another, and Louis slowly begins to panic.

Is Harry going to regret this? Is he going to sit up, push Louis away, say it was a mistake and then leave? Is he going to scream and shout and demand why Louis would use him when he's vulnerable and scared and had just ditched his wedding? Jesus, is he going to go  _back_ to Nick and then apologize to him and, so Louis will live the rest of his life miserable, pathetic and sad? What if-

"Lou," Harry's voice cracks, fingers still sharp in his hair, and although he's terrified, he slowly lolls his head around to mush his cheek against Harry's bony hip, blinking slow eyes at him. He's smiling, this happy, small, wonderful smile, and even his dimple is pressed lightly into his cheek. "I love you." He says, quiet, and Louis inhales sharply, his fingers going tight around Harry's thigh. "I really, really do. I'm sorry I almost went through with this, I don't even know what I was thinking. It just.. Nick's always been a good friend, and I'll love him like that forever, and.. I didn't have the nerve to tell him no when he asked." He stares up at the ceiling, his pretty, white throat exposed. "It should've been you," he murmurs, after the silence actually makes Louis sweat with fear, Harry's head lolling back down to meet his gaze.

There's a broad bloom of love in his chest, one he's kept in the dark for so long, one that's always crept into his mind late at night, when he's tired and vulnerable. One he's always been terrified he'd lose, so he never let it go. Finally, though, he releases it, and it feels so good he has to exhale, like finally getting rid of that hurt and instead letting in all that fucking good.

He surges up and over Harry's body as the taller lad continues to ramble, bare arse slipping carelessly across the messy come on his abdomen, and he clutches Harry's face in his hands, leaning down to smack their lips together.

"Shut up," he grumbles, and Harry smiles, eyes opening to reveal a shininess in them, green and wide and familiar. "I love you too," he says, quiet, and Harry laughs, his big palms coming up to spread across Louis' lower back. "Also, Nick's an idiot, and don't ever let anyone go without fucking you for two months," he leans down and pecks the tip of Harry's nose. Harry shrugs, sheepish like it isn't his fault.

"He just didn't want to-"

"Oh my god, I hate him more now, if that's even possible-"

"-and I guess I was under too much stress to notice anyways." Harry says, and Louis sighs, lightly clipping the knuckles of his index and middle finger beneath Harry's chin. He gives him a small, sympathetic smile, and ducks down to kiss him again. It's soft and chaste, just a heavy press of lips until Louis' mind is clouded with nothing but  _HarryHarryHarry._

It's the best he's felt in a long time, and he thinks, if he's got to be completely dejected for two years, break the tabloids with his endless drinking and endless prostitutes, and completely and utterly embarrass himself in the middle of a wedding, he thinks he could do that, again. If he had to, if it meant he'd get to look down at this beautiful man and be able to permanently drink in the sight of him.

"I'm sorry," he says, quiet. "You know, if you let me wine and dine you, I won't ever treat you like that. I'll buy you that proper shitty Yellow Tail wine you love, and we can eat those disgusting macaroons while rewatching Titanic all night long. Whatever you want." He promises, fingers sliding down to cup against Harry's neck, thumbing beneath the strong cut of his jaw.

Harry's smiling at him, eyes fond and already slightly exasperated. "Only if you promise to whine and groan and complain and kiss me silly the entire time." He says, completely, one hundred percent serious. Louis laughs, this sudden, happy, light noise, his chest rumbling. Harry giggles below him, and Louis' eyes slightly crinkle, his lips helplessly upturned in a lazy little smirk.

"I think I can handle that."

And yeah, two years later, when he gets down on one knee and watches Harry shine so fucking bright as he laughs at his dumb proposal, he thinks he can live with this.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! i apologize if there are any mistakes or if you didn't like it, this idea just randomly popped up and i wrote half of it on my cell phone, so, thank you for reading anyways! you're all a bunch of lovely pups xxx


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